


Scenes From a Broom Cupboard

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Broom Cupboard Sex, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, MWPP Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-12
Updated: 2008-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which five people are in four relationships, and nothing is quite the way it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From a Broom Cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://chiralove.livejournal.com/profile)[**chiralove**](http://chiralove.livejournal.com/) and [](http://wizard_love.livejournal.com/profile)[**wizard_love**](http://wizard_love.livejournal.com/) 2008.

**i. james**

"Lily."

She smiles, a quick tug at the corners of her mouth. James toys with the hem of her skirt and she shifts, sliding until her knees are locked around his thighs, until his hand moves further up her hip. The shadows have muddied her hair to brown; the light peering in around the door stripes the sleeve of her shirt and her skin seems grey, colourless.

The kiss is awkward, badly angled. His first brush forward catches the space just above her chin, and when he finally finds her mouth he can't remember what to do with his tongue. She smiles again, sighing out a soft giggle against his lips. Her fingers thread through his hair and he tips back -- lets himself be tipped back. His elbow bangs off a bucket of rags and a discarded tapestry flaps against his shoulder.

"Lily."

"Potter." Her voice is light, playful. She pulls away just slightly, one hand wrapped in his tie and the other pressed flat against the wall behind his head. "James."

There is a slow, curious pause -- James hears the short, even pulls of Lily's breaths, tastes dust and stale air -- then she dips back down, her hair curtaining her face. James watches her eyes narrow and her lips part. She kisses him this time, a slow drag of her soft-wet mouth and a delicate curl of tongue. His own breathing is hitched, ragged. The hand on her hip twitches, pushes up under the rumpled tail of her shirt until there is warm skin under his palm.

She presses closer, sliding her mouth across his neck, humming into the light kiss she tucks behind his ear. His hand inches up her side, fingers skimming the line of her bra. She hums again, a pleased, quiet sound, and James' hips snap up, pushing his cock against her thigh.

"Lily."

Another pause: his heart hammers in his chest and her mouth curves around a reply. He hears footsteps in the hall, then a muffled squeak that might be the door hinges, could be the suit of armour standing guard against the opposite wall.

"We shouldn't be here," he mumbles, breathless. Curfew has come and gone, and his thumb is carefully tracing the slope of her breast.

Her teeth find skin just below his jaw. "Second thoughts, Potter?"

"No," he says quietly. "No." It's not quite a lie. "I just. We might --" she twists in his lap, a slow roll of hips, and heat curls dangerously around his spine "-- we might get caught."

"You've been caught before," she replies easily. It's not a question. She arches, hiding her nipple under the pad of his thumb; James rocks up against her and bites his tongue. "McKinnon, wasn't it?"

James breathes. "Right, McKinnon." Her hand flutters from his chest to his belly: too low, but not low enough. "Yeah."

Her lips fold into a thin line.

"It doesn't matter," he says honestly. His elbow meets the bucket of rags again; it shies away from him with a dusty scrape. "She wasn't you."

**ii. severus**

Severus pulls the door closed and leans back against it.

"I told you."

Lily dismisses this with a lazy wave. Severus catches her hand, folding his fingers over hers, and tugs until their bodies are flush: shoulders to hips to knees. The cupboard is too close, smells strongly of mould and cleaning solvents. She lifts her chin, eyes narrowed against the shadows. Her jaw is tight, but when he kisses her, a rough press of lips and a hand in her hair, her mouths falls open under the slide of his tongue.

He cups her face, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. He kisses her harder, pushing away from the wall to lean into her, and she allows it, allows his hand to find her waist and his tongue to fill her mouth, but she doesn't participate, doesn't give anything back.

"He fancies you," Severus says quietly, his fingers curling in the hem of her jumper. "I told you."

"Fine." Her voice is strained, tight. "You told me."

He sighs, kisses her again. His foot connects with a box housing a broken statuette; the disjointed rattle is loud in the stillness. He slides his hands up her arms, his fingers tracing the line of her collar. She pulls herself taut, her shoulders setting sharply under his palms, steps back and frowns.

Severus swallows the knot building in the back of his throat. "You fancy him."

"James has nothing to do with this," she replies tightly. _James_. Severus feels dust creeping inside his nose. "Nothing."

Silence wraps around them like a draught. She twists her hands together, playing with the cuffs of her jumper, and the tapestry rolled into the corner casts a heavy shadow that pushes between their feet. Severus moves closer, his fists clenched in the folds of his robes. She avoids him with a quick step back; her hip bumps a three-legged desk and it creaks into a stack of mops.

"He is dangerous," Severus says, pitching his voice low. "You have no idea -- I cannot begin to tell you." Her face is guarded, ashen in the poor light, and Severus' teeth find his lip. "You do not know what he does -- what he _has_ done."

"Dangerous," she murmurs. The desk behind her rocks as her fingers curl around its edge. "He plays jokes. Pranks. If anyone here is dangerous, it is you."

Severus breathes, feels dust coating his tongue. "His friends. His friends are--"

"--your friends," she argues. "What about your friends?"

"My friends have nothing to do with this," he parrots, but his words lack her conviction. "Nothing."

Her mouth twists, weighted with anger. "They have everything to do with this. You made your decision long before I made mine."

"You're making a mistake." _James_. "This is a mistake."

"No." She pulls him closer by his robes, tilts her face up like she expects a kiss. "This is goodbye."

**iii. sirius**

The floor is cold, hard. Sirius' arse is numb, and knots are forming along his spine. Dust covers his hands, rough and grainy where his fingers press together. He shifts awkwardly, wincing as pins and needles prickle at his legs. His folded knee jabs James' thigh; James grunts, spares Sirius half a glance.

"Where's Peter?" Sirius asks softly. His tongue feels clumsy and thick.

James taps the Map with the lit tip of his wand. "Hufflepuff." He looks at Sirius, his mouth twisting. Almost a smile. "He'll be here soon."

It tastes like a dismissal. Sirius bites back a sigh and slumps against the wall, finding it as cold and hard as the floor. He tries to stretch, but his arm catches the lip of a bucket. The curved, red scratch doesn't bleed, but it throbs, stings. James lists to one side, pushing his thigh into Sirius' knee, pushing Sirius away.

"Hufflepuff," Sirius mutters.

James huffs; it's a short, tight sound. "He'll be here, all right? He knows I'm meeting Lily at half nine."

Sirius rolls his shoulders and shifts again, closer to James, closer to the wall. James divides his frown between Sirius and the Map, and a cold lump settles in Sirius' stomach. His hand twitches out of his lap; it wants the familiar plane of James' hip, but he can't quite make himself touch, can't decide if he should. James answers the question for him; he leans away, tilting his head against a finely-carved pedestal. It likely belongs to the box of alabaster shards resting next to Sirius' foot.

"Are you, um -- I mean, Evans." Sirius squints at James' shoes, chews the side of his thumb. "It's just -- are you sure she's, um." His knee pops as he straightens his leg. "She's the one, then?"

"Yeah," James says. His voice his heavy, rough. "She is, yeah."

Sirius frowns at the tapestry tucked in the far corner; the darkness has stolen its pattern. "Yeah."

The silence feels like waiting, and Sirius breathes, listens. His shoes squeak across the dirty floor and James taps a tight, uneven rhythm on the inside of his leg. The chair butted against Sirius' shoulder groans as he stretches his arms. James lifts his wand, washing his face in sudden, yellowish light. His skin is ghostly, his eyes bruised with shadows, and Sirius toys with the tails of his shirt.

"What?" James asks, and Sirius shrugs. James elbows him in the side and clears his throat. "What?"

"Just, I think," Sirius says, after a shaky breath and a hand through his hair. "You don't -- I think that she is. You know, with Snape."

"No, Sirius. No. Don't bring him into this. Not after -- not after that."

Sirius folds in a bit, tucks his knees close to his chest. "Sorry."

"Moony needs that, not me."

"I've told him," Sirius says quietly. "He isn't, you know. He doesn't care."

James sighs, waves him off. "Give him time." The desk groans again, and James tugs on a lock of Sirius' hair. "And she's not. With Snape. They hate each other."

"Right."

"It doesn't change anything," James says, his fingers slipping down Sirius' arm. They pull at his sleeve, fold around his wrist. "We're still best mates, and that."

"And that," Sirius murmurs. He twists his hand, putting James' thumb over his pulse. "Yeah."

"Yeah," James echoes, pushing his mouth against Sirius' jaw. "Yeah."

**iv. remus**

Remus paces the small space, his fingers knotted in the hem of his jumper. Stacks of brittle, outdated books guard one wall and a tangle of mops lean against the other, and Remus frowns, breathes dust and mould in the four steps in-between. His hip brushes a battered chair with each pass; it tips drunkenly to one side and its laddered back has more holes than slats.

The door creaks open with a sudden flare of light. When it closes, Severus is thin-lipped and pale, and Remus can't remember what he'd intended to say.

"Why?" Severus asks simply. He keeps his distance, keeps his body angled toward the door, one hand resting lightly on the handle.

Remus tucks his hands in his pockets, pursing his lips at the floor. "I don't know."

"You don't know why you asked me here, or why Black attempted to have you kill me?"

Remus opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Severus' eyes are hard and narrowed and he moves even further away, shifting until his shoulder is pressed against the door. Remus pulls his hands from his pockets; he means to reach out, but finds himself frowning at his fingers. They are shaking.

"No," Remus says finally. "He didn't."

"Don't, Lupin. Don't," Severus snaps. "I'm not interested in excuses."

"I'm not -- he wasn't, it wasn't -- not, not that," Remus says. His throat feels dry, hoarse. "He wasn't trying to kill you."

Severus' jaw tightens. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you." His hand slips from the door handle and curls in the folds of his robes. "You have protected him far too often."

"He wasn't. I don't -- I don't think he realised, that I could have -- that you could've been hurt," Remus says quietly. "He isn't always -- he doesn't always think things through."

"I doubt Black thinks at all."

Remus bites at his lip, pushes his fringe away from his face. "He was trying to scare you."

"Why?"

The question hangs there: Severus studies Remus openly, his arms folded across his chest, and Remus looks away. He shifts, bumping the back of his wrist against the ladder-backed chair. He's tired, feels hot and uncomfortable inside his own skin.

"He thought you were -- he said you were trouble. You were too close, around too much." Remus frowns, squints at the box of rubbish next to Severus' foot. "You were interfering."

Severus shakes his head slowly. "No." His mouth twists, the corners dragging into a snarl. "I don't believe he cares that much about you."

"No." Remus sighs, breathes until the sting has left his skin. "It's not -- it wasn't about me. It was about James." He sighs again. "James and Evans."

Severus pushes away from the door and catches Remus by the elbow. "Evans is none of my concern."

**v. james**

James' wand clatters to the floor, its light flickering as it rolls into the wall.

He cannot breathe. He is anxious, jittery, and he can't keep his hands from shaking. They twitch as they fumble up her legs, and his fingers press too hard against her skin. She sighs softly, allows herself to be pushed back, pushed open. She slumps into a musty pile of bed hangings, angled up on her elbows with her knickers twisted around one ankle. James lifts her skirt, brushes his lips over the top of her knee.

"Potter."

"Evans."

Her mouth curves with a slow smile. "We shouldn't be here."

"Second thoughts?" His voice is too high, too tight.

She laughs -- a low, throaty sound, and shifts closer, inching down the pile of bed hangings to slide her legs around his body, and James tries his best to smile. He can still feel her lips against his, her tongue inside his mouth. He splays his fingers, his thumbs sketching nervous circles over her skin, and hides a kiss on the inside of her thigh. She pulls at his arm, tugs him closer by the sleeve.

"James."

He still can't breathe. She tastes of salt and sweat and skin, and James has no idea what he's doing. He's still anxious, still jittery, thinks his fingers are going to leave bruises behind. The hair between her legs is lighter than the hair on her head, brighter, even in the shadows, and it tickles his nose when she arches up to meet his mouth. His tongue feels clumsy, heavy, but he forces it to work, slipping it up between her folds. Her breath hitches, short and sharp, and she twists her fingers in his hair.

"Lily."

She tilts her hips up further, tightening the hand in his hair, putting his mouth exactly where she wants it. He leans forward, spreads her open with his fingers, lets his tongue twist and flick and curl until she's as breathless as he is, until her eyes flutter closed and her legs begin to shake. He's impossibly hard. He wants to slide inside her, wants to hear her gasp out his name on the end of a moan. He dips his tongue down instead, pressing in softly. She shifts around him, murmurs, pulls sharply on his hair. He drags his mouth back up, licking hard and slow, smiling against her when she shudders and falls apart.

"James."

She sits up and reaches for him, brushing her fingers over his wet, wet mouth. Carefully, they slide down, plucking lightly at the buttons of his shirt before pausing at his belt.

"I love you," he says quietly.

Her smile is soft. "I know."


End file.
